


Wednesday Misgivings

by AHappierYear



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, clive continues being a neurotic mess, not stating the themes of a work in the text itself is for chumps, very comforting to write this if I'm to be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 19:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHappierYear/pseuds/AHappierYear
Summary: Clive has a minor moral crisis during one of Maurice's visits to his flat. In an attempt to comfort Clive on his own level, Maurice entertains Clive's tendency to spin out long speils and puts in the extra effort to counter his anxieties sufficiently. Light cuddling ensues!





	Wednesday Misgivings

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! M here. This is my first published fan fiction on this site, and the first one I've ever been really proud of. I'm afraid it's a little long and unwieldily, as I've adapted it from an essay I had previously written, but felt would flow better in a conversational format. I hope you enjoy, I know Maurice fanfic is rare! I was absolutely unable to figure out how to indent paragraphs in the html editor, so hopefully you can ignore that. (lol)

And one day, Wednesday came again, as it always had. The flat was as it always had been, all soft light and thin pipe smoke that shone in trails of grey mist as the lanterns outside were lit. Maurice sat alone in the sitting room, fiddling with the frayed edges of a woolen blanket laid out over the arms of the plush chair he always sat in when he visited.

The soft silence was interrupted by the sudden scraping of a chair and heavy footsteps headed down the narrow hallway. Clive freneticaly swerved into the room, precariously balancing a stack of papers sandwiched neatly between two thick law books. “Clive,” Maurice muttered, “You really must replace this old thing-”

“I’m thoroughly defeated, Maurice. Really, the exams are ridiculous.” 

“You look tired. Did you sleep last night? Try to remember all those times you labored up ‘till the sun came up studying for the Bars and then could barely move in the morning.”

Clive sat in the chair opposite Maurice and placed his head in his hands. He looked up for a quick moment, darted his eyes back and forth, and then flung himself back in an over-exaggerated gesture of defeat.

“Really, are you alright?” Maurice said suddenly seriously concerned, leaning forward in his chair, hand outstretched. 

“I’m ragged. Ruined!” Clive cried.

Maurice stuttered. “I knew the Bars were hard, but you’ve never acted like this before. What’s the matter?”

Clive sucked in a short breath. “I suppose I have to tell you. Remember Risley from back at Cambridge? Well, when I first met you, if I remember correctly, after you two had known each other for quite a while, he confided in me that he found you quite interesting, in that certain way. Risley always had a talent for reading slight gestures and mannerisms whether for charming the socialites he so loved toying with, or identifying others like us. I so desperately lacked that talent, and he would tease me about it incessantly. Anyway, he saw something in you, despite your bluntness. After we were introduced, he asked me what I thought of you. I hope you’ll forgive me here, that first meeting did not give me the best impression of you.”

Maurice let out a nigh inaudible sigh, knowing what was to come. Clive’s tendency to launch into long, passionate, completely apropo of nothing discussions of their shared inversion was, while charming in its own heightened, intellectual way, not his favorite mode of interaction between the two of them. It did make him feel blunt when he fell behind. Clive continued, eyes screwed tightly shut. 

“But I softened to you over time, you really are a wonderful human being. Of course, there’s something that has gotten to me all this time, isn’t there always? I try not to worry you about it but it so inhibits our connection, even for the briefest of moments. What I’m trying to say, Maurice, is that- listen, I love our time together. I’ll say it plainly, it’s really truly lovely. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve been- I’ve been having misgivings about all this nonsense. You know,” and he gesticulated a quick bridge between him and Maurice, “this nonsense.”

“Clive, I-”

His speech then really became frenzied, his movements jerky and stilted. “Oh, it’s all muddy all of the sudden! You know, when I was young, even thinking about other men was torture. Not because it was unappealing, but because the constant of my tainted soul was horrifying to my young mind. I had never heard anything like it, and when it was mentioned, in hushed, morbid tones, it only told me to be even more ashamed. To fight harder. And fought I did, I was still fighting when I met you, to some extent. Yes, I knew Risley, and I had cast off the gaze of the church long, long ago, but it sticks with you. When I first allowed myself to acknowledge the leanings of the greeks, I was excited and bewildered to learn of their unabashed, unashamed approach towards the subject. You know, Alexander the Great, he loved Hephestion so openly and was still allowed to command all of the country’s army. Imagine that! Imagine being able to show people your love for another, to express your persuasion in public, and not be ostracized, Maurice, to not be a criminal! It was unthinkable. Even Thomas Mann, and the great success of his little novel in Germany, had to subvert the happiness of his protagonist with disease of the mind and body for it to be accepted. 

“Anyway, when you first rejected me, not a small part of me was very glad. It confirmed my fears about my own deviant thoughts. ‘The world will punish me,’ I thought. ‘The world is still just. Hall will grow to be a good man, untouched by my sin.’ You see, although I had at the surface rejected the fears of my youth, my heart still utterly clung to them. And when you came back to me, and my subconscious both did and didn’t want you. Yes, I loved you- and I still do- but in order to love you I had to admit my own romantic, no- sexual leanings in earnest. Was it ever so difficult! Even before you turned me away, I felt sick immediately knowing what I had just proposed to you. To overcome the punitive thoughts of others is hard but feasible , but to learn to accept yourself is nigh impossible. And, I must admit- and this has been my point of all this rambling- the fear returns sometimes. And it has now.

“For a man of our sort to allow himself to feel the way we allow ourselves to daily is a tremendous act of power. A radical act, even! I used to think there was good, heroism, inherent in that act, inherent to the radical, but tonight I’m not so sure. Look at all the societies that have come before us. The centuries England has slogged through. None of them, not in a very long time, have allowed our kind in any capacity. We are so lucky to not be in danger of our lives at the hands of the government, Maurice. Could such a long-standing value or such an eternal moral be wrong? An idea so intrinsic that is survived the dark ages, the procession of kings, and the rise of the industrial age must have some sort of value. A window to the human consciousness. 

“I’ve been studying hard for the upcoming Bars, and of course, one day I had to come to the laws concerning us, Maurice. About our love. Really, I think even the most extreme rebel has some queer fear about his actions if they violate the law. And doubly so for me! How am I to practice so completely disregarding the powers that be itself? Can I justify being such a hypocrite? Is it moral, in the end?”

Maurice thought. “Clive,” he chided, “When we met, you were a tremendous aesthet. You and your records and your poetry. Where has that person gone all of the sudden? To bow to the morals of others, it’s- well, it’s not in your blood. And what is this of intrinsic morals? I thought you abandoned that fundamentalist way of thinking long ago. You are many things, Mister Durham, but an Innatist you are not. Maybe in your darkest hour you fall prey to that line of thinking, and I know you have in the past, but I like to think you’ve grown far past it long ago. 

“And even so- if I’m understanding you correctly, Clive, tell me, our inclination towards our own sex is inborn, you’ve said that many times. How can our persuasion and moral absolutism coexist, then?”

There was a strangled pause. “Original sin,” Clive lamented.

“But surely you don’t believe that!”

“I do! Well,” he paused, and shook his head. “Maybe I do. I told myself I did for so long, it’s hard to parse my own feelings from what I’m told to believe. But you must allow me this, if there ever was a case for the idea of original sin, of predestination, it was the tale of the grecian sort. All the evil, all the wicked wrongs in the world are placed into our minds from birth from the transgressions of Adam and Eve. And yes, wickedness was inborn in us, especially! Now, if I think back, I see the traces of it from my very beginning. If I were a stronger man, I could have controlled it all.”

“But Adam and Eve- they were not of our kind,” Maurice countered as gently as he could. 

“Does it even matter?” Clive sobbed. “We’re all damned to hell anyways!”

“I think it does matter. And even so, how can as huge of a sin as you make it out to be be such a source of joy? If you look at it, what is so different from our love than if you had settled down straight out of college with some county girl your mother approved of? Yes, we cannot have children, but I know you never wanted any anyways, did you? No, the only true difference is that we love each other, know each other’s souls more deeply than your hypothetical puritan wife ever could. How could we be evil? G-d could not create such a source of human passion and then callously abandon it to Lucifer.”

“I don’t have all the answers,” Clive whispered.

“And yet you speak as though you do! Allow me to make my points. On top of it all, I refuse to believe that for the time we’ve known each other, you’ve managed to conceal such a deeply permeating anxiety from me. I don’t know you as a man who lies very easily, and we talk an awful lot and awfully close, far too much to keep secrets. Come over here. Listen, rest your head against my knee.”

So they resumed the position they had taken so often in college, Clive sitting to the left of the chair on the floor, head pressed against Maurice’s leg. Maurice sat relaxed, intently running his hands though Clive’s hair, appreciating the slight waves. “See,” he whispered. “It doesn’t have to be so painful. Let your shoulders down, there.” Clive grasped at his ankle.

Now he spoke in more hushed tones. “Does it not have to be so painful, Maurice? Do you really believe that? Think back to the beginning, how you were so fearful of my advances. Does it never return?”

“Sometimes. But it passes.”

Clive let out a strangled gasp and shakily pawed his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Oh, do you have to be so blasted right all the time? It really isn’t fair. Do you know how many hours I’ve devoted to ruminating, to turning the notion of the uranian connection over and over again? How many books I’ve snuck out of libraries for even a hint that a man could love another man? And oh, how I fixated on those, too. I’ve wasted my life trying to dissect myself, Maurice, and you’ve really found yourself content simply by yourself!”

“Don’t insult me, Clive,” Maurice laughed. “I may not be as much of a mad academic as you, but it does get to me. And I have not gotten here by myself! I’ve told you time and time again, I would have stumbled around in the dark for G-d knows how long if you had not pulled me out. I don’t know how I would function if you left me. But I am not in pain right now, and clearly you are, so it only seems right that I should comfort you. Sit in silence for a while, right here next to me, now, don’t think. Listen to the street below, shut your eyes.”

Clive only answered with small, pitiful murmur. But Maurice did feel him relax, and he let go of his ankle. The only inward sound of the flat was Maurice’s steady breathing and Clive’s weeping gasps. The last few stragglers of cars and carriages continued to move along down on the street as society shut its doors for the night. Maurice was growing sleepily blurry, and so was the world. A lantern outside the window flickered out into dimness. In a miniature forever, a minute or two passed. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Maurice was the first to break the silence.

“I’m not sure,” came the shaky reply, and then an uneasy pause. “Tell me, what will become of us?”

“You know I don’t know Clive, and frankly, with you in a state, I’m not inclined to offer an answer.” He ruffled Clive’s hair playfully. “I just know it will work out.”

“There’s no reason for you to believe that! The odds are set firmly and bluntly against us. You know, when you were discharged from Cambridge, I think, well, I think the dean knew the nature of that day we spent together. We are not sufficiently covert, Maurice, and the possible consequences of stupidly ignoring the steps necessary for concealing our tryst are great.”

“This is more than a tryst-”

“That’s not the point!” Clive snapped.

“No, I think it is. If you’re to abandon me simply for fear of punishment,” and he saw Clive shudder slightly and turn his head just so, “and I sincerely hope you’re not considering it even in a small part, you’re discarding years now of deep connection. Something more than a tryst, a pure love, not one to be ashamed of or to be hidden, at least not in an ideal, just world. 

“If you approach the morals of what we have from a purely analytical angle you are ignoring the heart of the matter- emotion, plain and simple. Emotion is not a negligible little facet when considering the ethics of society or law at large, and- look at me,” and Clive did, “look, now, I see emotion in your eyes. You’re a grown man and you’re weeping! I understand the filthy lies you’ve been fed during your upbringing contribute to your- and I say this kindly- neurosis, but strong, forceful positive emotion fuels that fear.

"I know when you first expressed your feeling to me I was, for lack of a better word, disgusted, but I soon saw that it was possible for connections of our sort to be healthy and true lasting friendships. I did not have to be afraid of deviance, for it was not deviant in the slightest. If our connection was nothing but a tryst, you wouldn’t be afraid of discovery. You could blame me as a salacious, immoral bastard who forced himself on you or tempted you unfairly, and yourself move on to an ordinary life, but I mean more to you than that, and you mean more than that to me. It is more than a tryst. More than a dirty secret. You are afraid of others’ perception of you, not yourself.”

“No,” Clive protested, although he was clearly beginning to feel quite a bit better, “You have to consider, well, Maurice, you have to consider the divine element. No, don’t you scoff at me! If you insist on calling me out on ignoring the emotional argument, we have to circle back to the higher powers of the world.”

“Are you not being perceived by G-d? Is any judgment or punishment that could hypothetically come of this preceded by, well, being perceived by the divine element? Imagine your feelings on this in a vacuum, for a moment. Just how you used to. Just how I came to know you to, how you taught me to.”

“Well,” said Clive, and then stopped for a moment. “Well.”

“Nothing to say to that, hm? For all you fervent reading and thinking and writing, sometimes, I swear, you need some sense knocked into you.” He tugged on Clive’s ear.

“Wauw!” Clive laughed.

“Well, I’m going to make some tea, and figure out what to do with this old blanket. Change into pyjamas, maybe bathe. Find your room when you’re ready, if you want I’ll be in mine preparing to go to sleep. If you like, we can talk more on the subject, although I wouldn’t encourage dwelling on it too much longer” He began to rise from the chair. 

“Stay here for just a little while?” murmured Clive, He paused a moment to turn his head upwards and back at Maurice, so that he could just see Clive’s wide eyes. “And I would like to talk more about it. Just not right now. In the morning.”

“If that’s what you’d like,” replied Maurice, and so they just sat, in a liminal state between panic and contentedness until Maurice had fallen asleep where he sat, and Clive was in right mind enough to change into pyjamas, turn off the lights, and curl up to rest on the floor in front of his friend.


End file.
